


parting is such sweet sorrow

by pocketchocobo (laveIIans)



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Confessional Sex, Confessions, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Happy Ending, Insecurity, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), One Shot, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26869402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laveIIans/pseuds/pocketchocobo
Summary: A'lyhhia and Silvairre had always had a frosty relationship, to say the least. But when a chance request from Urianger brings her back to the Gods' Quiver, the pair of them try to make amends - and discover something entirely new in the process...
Relationships: Elezen Characters/Miqo'te Characters (Final Fantasy XIV), Silvairre/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 6





	parting is such sweet sorrow

Silvairre had never quite seen eye to eye with her. Literally, in A’lyhhia’s case — the man was at least a foot taller than her, though with the way he carried himself about the Gods’ Quiver, it may as well have been several.

And now, with the end of the world seemingly knocking right on her doorstep, he was even more aloof with her than normal. 

A’lyhhia was making her way over to Bowlord Lewin’s office when the Elezen gave her a look that stopped her in her tracks. An unspoken question hung between them, and she tried her best to ignore it.

“You haven’t been back in a while,” he said, quiet enough that she almost had to strain to hear. 

“Ah, you know.” Her tail flicked from side to side as she scuffed her boot along the ground, avoiding his glance. “Scion duties.” 

“Your letter mentioned as much.” 

“It’s true. I’ve been running here and there, trying to recruit everyone to help with Minfilia’s efforts, and now Urianger wants me to — ”

Silvairre folded his arms across his chest and A’lyhhia found the words drying up in her throat. She coughed, trying to move past him.

“I really need to see — ”

“Do you think you’ve risen above us somehow?” 

_That_ gave her pause. The two of them had always had a relatively uneasy relationship, not helped by Silvairre being frosty towards her from the start, but A’lyhhia hadn’t expected him to hold a grudge over her joining another organisation after finishing her archer training.

“No,” she said slowly. “No, I don’t, but I _do_ need to get to Lewin’s office right now. It’s urgent, Silvairre.” Her words came out harsher than she intended, and Silvairre’s frown only grew deeper. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, gentler this time. “Can I talk to you after I’ve met with him? I promise I won’t be running off anywhere,” she added with a smile.

“Perhaps.”

That was probably as good as she would get from him. 

A’lyhhia gave him an awkward nod and tried not to make it obvious she was walking quickly away from him, but the Elezen was not looking in her direction. As usual, he was facing straight ahead; his mouth was now set in a thin, tight line.

Lewin was eager enough to see her once she explained she was there at Urianger’s request. It turned out there was potential truth to the rumours swirling around after all: a primal had been seen in the Shroud. Or, at the very least, _suspected_ of being there — as usual, it was her job to check the veracity of the rumours and quickly dispatch this so-called Dark Divinity.

A’lyhhia struggled to resist the urge to laugh when Lewin told her the name. It sounded so ridiculous, the sort of name an immature youth might use to try and appear bold and menacing while failing utterly at both; yet, as the Bowlord reminded her, his threat was real and serious. She agreed to sort things out, setting her aetheryte shard for Quarrymill, and the Elezen smiled in relief.

As she was leaving his office, glad things had gone well, A’lyhhia looked around the practice room for Silvairre. 

He had gone, leaving nothing behind but a twinge of guilt in her gut. 

* * *

  
  


On her way back from Urth’s Fount, the binding stone having been safely stored away in her chocobo’s satchel, A’lyhhia found Silvairre near the borders of the Central Shroud. Trying to appear as calm as possible, she approached him with a wave that he notably did not return.

“Is now a good time to talk?” She smiled, hoping it might help to ease the tension, and was rewarded with a brisk nod. A’lyhhia sat down on the grass, flattening her tail behind her, though the Elezen stayed standing.

“I have never fully understood you,” Silvairre said after a moment’s silence that she feared would drag on forever. “I never understood why you chose an archer’s life, or why you came to Gridania in the first place. Then you became a bard, following that fool who talks to moogles, and never came back.” He glared at her. “ _Scions_ , you say.”

“Silvairre, I don’t understand.” A’lyhhia would have to choose her words carefully. “Why are you angry with me? Earlier you — you…” She wilted under the weight of his stare.

“ _Do_ you think you’ve risen above us?” The same words from earlier, only now the anger was replaced with a hurt she had never seen in him before. 

Somehow that was worse.

“What do you mean?” 

“You haven’t been back in moons. Luciane asks after you sometimes, but she’s stopped since new recruits have joined. Apparently you’ve made quite the name for yourself, and now every gibbering fool thinks he can hold a bow and follow in your footsteps.” Silvairre snorted. “That made her _proud_.”

“But you think otherwise.” 

His tone said as much, as did his curt: “Yes.”

Well, _two_ could question with their eyes. A’lyhhia gave him a look, waiting for him to respond. 

“You are…. _different_ from what I expected you to be. You always have been. At first, I thought perhaps it was on account of your Miqo’te blood, and you are a Seeker to Leih’s Keeper. But it was something else.”

She motioned for him to continue when he stopped, and the Elezen sighed. “The Gods’ Quiver has always trained the finest archers in Gridania, yet since the Calamity, much of that has been lost. Our traditions are ancient, venerable, and to pass them on to one born in the Twelveswood is…” He paused, searching for the right words. “It carries weight. I was always uncomfortable with that.” 

Silvairre shifted his weight, and A’lyhhia noticed the way his hands were awkwardly curling and uncurling themselves around each other, smoothing and stroking away his nerves. Had he always been nervous around her? If so, it was the first she knew of it.

The same was not true vice versa. A’lyhhia was sure he had probably sniffed out her crush on him from the beginning, and that was why he had always treated her with such contempt. Even after defeating Pawah together, with Leih declaring them all friends in her sunny, wholesome way, the ice had not completely thawed between them. 

If anything, since Papalymo and Yda had recruited her and whisked her away to Vesper Sands, it had only grown worse. Silvairre had always dragged his feet over responding to her letters, and his words seemed so distant that it was almost as though he had forced them onto the page.

His last letter, on hearing her say she would be returning to Gridania for a week or so, was practically simmering. 

“Did you think I didn’t deserve it?” His stony silence confirmed it, and A’lyhhia couldn’t help feeling her temper beginning to flare up. “And what about me being a barrrrd, then? Or joining the Scions? Why have I _rrrrrisen_ above you, huh? Care to explain that one for me?” 

In her anger, she felt her natural accent grow stronger, turning her sentence into a vicious purr. Normally she tried her hardest to hide it, fearing she would not be taken seriously otherwise if Eorzeans could hear the sounds of her tribe on her tongue and sensed she was not some well-to-do city-bred Miqo’te like those she had run into before. But anger sharpened it, just as her rage pinned her ears flat against her head and turned her thick tail spiky and firm. 

Silvairre seemed taken aback briefly, but he met her anger with the kind of judgmental look a parent might give a misbehaving child. “Archery is not a tool for profit,” he said, his tone dripping with his usual haughtiness. It was all too much. “Nor is it to entertain the masses, no matter what Jehantel might tell you. It is defensive, an art of great honour and skill, neither of which you possess. You have not been training as long as the rest of us, and yet you flounce yourself around Eorzea with such _airs_ and _graces_ that — ”

A’lyhhia slapped him. “ _How dare you!_ ” There was a loud cawing and fluttering as the nesting birds flew away, alarmed at how loud her voice had become. “I have practiced as hard as anyone in the guild. I have followed Luciane’s instructions to the letter, as with Leih’s and Jehantel’s — and yes, even _yours_ , Silvairre.” 

She spat out his name with venom. “I may not be Gridanian by birth or blood, but you will _not_ stand there and question my devotion to archery, nor my respect for your traditions or the guild. Do you understand?” When he failed to respond quickly enough, she shoved his chest in frustration.

In her anger, she forgot her own strength. The force of the movement sent the pair of them tumbling to the ground, A’lyhhia collapsing against Silvairre and leaving the pair of them winded. 

“Twelve damn you, woman,” Silvairre hissed. “What are you trying to do?”

“ _I’m so sorrrrrry._ ” Her words came out in a panicked flurry as she swiftly shuffled off him, apologetically cringing herself into a ball. “I don’t know what came over me, I didn’t mean to — ”

“No, not _that_ .” He waved his hand dismissively, repeating his words: “ _What are you trying to do_?” 

“I — ”

“Why didn’t you come back?” The pain in his voice made her slowly look up to meet his gaze. She had never seen such intense sadness on his face before, and the sight of it left her struggling not to weep. “You wrote to me, yes, but you never visited. You were never _here_. And now here you are, out of the blue, ready to whisk yourself off again, no doubt.”

“ _Silvairre_.” A’lyhhia straightened herself out, unsure of how to respond. “I thought you hated me.” Because of course he did… didn’t he?

“I never hated you.” His voice was scarcely above a whisper, but the look in his eyes held volume enough. “I… I was afraid of you.” Silvairre paused. “You were new, an uncertainty, and I was afraid everything my ancestors ever stood for would be trampled into the dirt. When Luciane began teaching you, I could see rudiments of talent in you, and that… frightened me. The better you became, the more unsure I felt. If a non-Gridanian, a perfect _stranger_ , could master the bow with such ease, with such speed that even I — ” 

He stopped, and this time A’lyhhia did not make him carry on.

“I’m sorry, Silvairre,” she said gently. A’lyhhia laid her hand on top of his in a conciliatory, ready to move it away quickly if he flinched. “I didn’t know, honest.”

Was it a trick of the light, or had his cheeks grown flushed? Perhaps it was the shouting match between them; A’lyhhia was more than certain _she_ did not look at her best, after all.

“It was not your fault. I convinced myself you were undeserving somehow, and I refused to properly acknowledge your potential until it was too late. You found Jehantel and never came back.”

He turned to look at her. “You _are_ a gifted archer. As for your bardic skills, I have heard you give amazing performances.” His voice grew quieter, tinted with regret. “I wish I could have seen one of them. I never had the chance to hear you sing before.”

Her body moved before she had the time to rationally think it over. A’lyhhia scrambled to fish her lute from her satchel and gave him a winsome grin.

“It’s a song I first heard in Ul’dah, from a group of dancing girls. They were all Miqo’te, of course.” She gave him a roguish grin as she plucked an opening chord. 

  
  


_I fell for a man with no gil in his hand..._

  
  


As she carried on singing, Silvairre noticed the way she plucked the lute-strings so effortlessly, almost mirroring the way she plucked her bow in battle. There was an easy grace to it as A’lyhhia swayed slightly from side to side, a rhythm not unlike the careful way they would draw arrows in the practice room.

And that wasn’t even mentioning her voice. 

He was well and truly lost now.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The last chord lingered in the air after she finished, and Silvairre found himself almost agape. 

“Was I _that_ bad?” she teased. “Or are you just stunned?”

“I see now why everyone clamors over you so.” He smiled at her, and something caught in her throat. “You deserve it, every last onze of praise.”

“You never said anything like that before.” A’lyhhia found herself struggling not to stammer; and then there was the curious sensation in her chest, a hope she had buried long ago that maybe, just _maybe_ — 

“My second greatest failing so far.”

“...Second?”

“You are… kind. You joined the Scions without a second thought because you believed in them. We all do, but most would hesitate when asked to take up such responsibility.” 

“You have risen to the call and performed admirably. All I ever hear is good news in your name. And yet I have never had the chance to tell you before.”

“You just did,” A’lyhhia teased, uncertain of the direction the conversation was now heading in.

“ _No_.” Silvairre shook his head, adamant. “I have never had the chance to properly discuss — to tell you — ” 

He muttered a curse in the Elezen tongue, taking a moment to calm himself. 

“I have never had the chance to tell you of my feelings before.” The words came out so quickly that it took her a moment to process their meaning, feeling as stunned as though a great Ixal had clubbed the back of her skull. 

“Your… feelings?”

Silvairre grew uncharacteristically red. A’lyhhia found herself noting the way even his ears had grown red, right to the very tip, and tried not to think of how he might react if she stroked along the slender, pointed edges.

“I… care for you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “I grew angry after you left because I… I felt as though you had abandoned the Gods’ Quiver.” _Abandoned me_. Silvairre left that part unsaid, but she could sense it anyway. 

“I was jealous of the way you handled your bow, and I allowed that jealousy to cloud my mind for far too long. I _resented_ you, when I should have been _helping_ you. I was not… open.” He stared resolutely into the grass. “I was not true to you when I should have been. As a mentor, and as a —”

Silvairre stopped as abruptly as he had begun, letting the implication hang between them, heavy and waiting. 

“I care for you too.” A’lyhhia laughed, suddenly aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. “I thought you hated me. You were certainly fierce enough.”

How long had she danced around her own feelings, more nervous than a colt, and never once daring to dream he might have felt the same way? She had had no inkling from him at all; was this another disadvantage to not being born among the Twelveswood, that perhaps she missed some hidden signal, some cue to a Gridanian’s innermost secrets? 

But no, it had been a dance the two of them had shared, mirroring each other’s steps without ever once joining or even knowing the other moved in perfect, unspoken harmony. 

And to think Silvairre had implied such disdain for bards. 

“I was… not how I should have been, that I confess. And I apologise, A’lyhhia.”

“Lyhhia.”

He looked puzzled. “I — I don’t — ”

“Among the Seekers, the first letter of our name indicates our tribe. The A tribe, for me. We drop that letter in everyday conversation with those we are close enough to. Family, friends… _lovers_.” 

“Li — Lih — Lihih — ” Sylvairre gave her an apologetic glance, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I apologise, A’lyhhia. My tongue is so used to saying your name one way that I fear it will take a while to learn another.” 

“Then call me Lyhi,” she said gently, meeting his gaze with a warm smile. “My mother would call me that as a child, when she was singing songs to me around the fire.” 

Past tense. That was a topic for another conversation — another time. 

“ _Lyhi_ ,” he said, marvelling at the way it slid out as naturally as though he had been born with her name on the tip of his tongue. “Lyhi, Lyhi, Lyhi.”

“ _Silvairrrrrre_.” The way she purred out his name left him feeling weak, as did her growing smile. 

“A’lyhhia, I —”

Whatever he may have said was silenced by the force of the Miqo’te eagerly crashing her lips against his in a bruising kiss.

“Oops.” A’lyhhia drew back quickly, wiping her mouth sheepishly. “I was a little too hasty there.” 

“Not at all.”

Just as her mouth opened in surprise, Silvairre leaned in close, sliding an arm around her waist. 

This time their lips met gently, though no less eagerly. A’lyhhia was delighted at the way her body seemed to mould so easily against his, fitting as though it was a piece of clay being gently placed in shape, and her tail curled up in pleasure as a purr formed deep in her throat.

That made Silvairre chuckle as he ended the kiss, and she resented the loss of his mouth against hers. It was warm and inviting, curved like the bows he so adored, and when he — 

His lips pressed against her throat, and she felt the warmth of his breath flutter against her skin.

“ _Silvairre_.” She clutched him tighter to her, and that was all he needed to begin lightly sucking at the exposed flesh above her collar. 

Just as the purring grew louder, Silvairre increased his efforts, squeezing her waist a little tighter and allowing his other hand to cup the other side of her neck, angling it closer towards him.

When he parted his lips and began to bite, A’lyhhia swooned against him with a loud moan. 

“Patience, _chérie_ , patience,” he teased, running his tongue gently over the sensitive skin. 

“No, Sylvairre — I want — I — ”

She pulled him downwards until she lay flat against the grass, the Elezen crouching somewhat awkwardly above her.

“ _A’lyhhia_ ,” he murmured nervously, “are you sure you —?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she panted.

“But what if someone sees?”

“You are of the Twelveswood, are you not? Why should you feel shame?” A’lyhhia smirked up at him. “Besides, do you see anybody about? We are in an isolated thicket, and —”

“ _Ah, chérie, tu me fais rougir. Vois par toi-même_.” The sight of him grinning above her had the Miqo’te eagerly wrapping her arms around his back in an attempt to pull him closer, and Silvairre was only too happy to oblige. 

His thigh slid its way between her legs as he leant down to kiss her once more, tucking his elbows against her sides as her tongue moved against his lips, seeking entrance that was freely given. One hand twined his fingers into her hair — and it was just as silky as he had imagined it would feel when he had lain abed, sleepless, his mind consumed with thoughts of her and her alone — while the other skirted about her abdomen, playing with the fastenings of her jacket. 

A’lyhhia wrapped her legs around his waist and yanked him against her, beginning a slow rock into his thigh while she clung to his back, heedless for the moment of the way her claws were pinned through his shirt; her lover did not mind at all. 

“This comes off, now.” A’lyhhia pulled at the back of his shirt, and Silvairre had it pulled over his head and tossed to the side quicker than she could blink. “And so does this.” She guided his hands to the fastenings of her jacket, carrying on grinding against him and smiling as he moaned against her neck, almost too distracted to remove it for her.

She flung the jacket then shirt aside, careless of where they might end up, and her breast band joined it with the same easy abandon a few seconds later. 

Silvairre gasped at the sight of her exposed breasts, which only made her chuckle.

“What, never seen any before?”

“They leave me speechless. Luckily, I need no words.” 

He moved his lips in a slow, lazy trail from her mouth down her neck, lingering at her collarbone until he snaked down to tease her nipple, smirking at the way she curved her back in response.

“Ah, less teeth.”

“ _Désolé_.” Silvairre repeated his motions more gently this time, alternating between sucking and licking in circles, then semi-circles, not rising from her breast until she gently raised his head with a breathless gasp. 

“Darling, I need that lower down now,” A’lyhhia grinned, shrugging herself out of her leggings and yanking away her underwear until she lay before him as naked as she had entered the world — and equally as shameless, Silvairre found to his delight.

“ _Patience_ , Lyhi, patience.” One hand slowly trailed its way down her stomach, fingertips ghosting shapes against her as she sighed in pleasure, while he propped himself up on his elbow between her thighs. 

For an agonising moment, A’lyhhia thought he aimed to tease her forever, leaving the forest air perfumed with the scent of her desire and desperation…. at least until his fingers brushed against her folds, almost by accident, though with a purposeful sense of effortlessness that only left her craving more. 

“ _Lower, Silvairre, lower_.” Her voice became a keening whimper that went straight to his cock, but he was determined to not hurry through the act. Whether they were to make love leisurely all day against soft mattresses and silken sheets or rut furiously like the forest creatures around them, he wanted to make sure his lover would feel as much pleasure as she could bear.

The thought of her crying out his name spurred him on, and Silvairre slowly slid a finger across her clit, watching her reaction as he shifted between directions and motions.

The Miqo’te clenched her legs around his shoulders, squeezing him with a vice-like grip — and it was the sweetest ache in the world. 

“What do you want, love?” he whispered, and for a moment she saw anxiety flicker across his face; the age-old worry of not being enough, of not comparing to whatever fantasy or dream she held in her heart for moments like this — and the fear that, just as suddenly as it had begun, this brief hint of happiness, of _her_ , would be yanked away from him forever just as he had barely found its taste.

Gently, she guided his finger lower, then slowly inside her, moving his wrist in a slight rocking motion until he understood. “I want _you_ ,” she smiled, as though it was the simplest thing in the world, and pushed his head between her thighs.

Silvairre groaned as his tongue grazed her clit, moving in lazy, languid strokes. It had been too long, far too long, and a nagging voice in the back of his head told him he would never be good enough to please her — but A’lyhhia’s keening moans said otherwise, as did the way her hips thrust upwards in pleasure against him, spurring him on further and further.

He gently slid another finger inside her to join the first, curling them up against her walls, curving his wrist against her and letting his fingers simply rock back and forwards, back and forwards, until — 

“There we go,” Silvairre thought to himself as A’lyhhia let out a wail, nearly crushing him between her thighs as she clutched him as tightly as possible. Inside her, his fingers were being squeezed almost as tightly, and she tasted nearly as good as she seemed to feel.

A’lyhhia looked at him through half-closed eyes, sighing as she struggled to speak. “That… that was very… I….”

“Hush, love.” Silvairre smiled as he moved above her, sliding his trousers down until they tangled about his ankles. He would have kicked them off, but then A’lyhhia was waiting beneath him, still flush with pleasure and rocking her legs about his waist, and he found he didn’t care at all. 

Several poets had tried to describe the feeling of sex, and they had all failed. In his opinion, nobody would ever come close to describing how it felt to enter A’lyhhia, or to see her grinning up at him as she pulled him into a kiss that seemed to last forever, or the way they moved in unison, slowly at first as they grew used to the feeling before moving with more urgency, speeding up until all that could be heard was the soft movements of skin against skin and heady gasps. 

Nor would they ever describe the way he felt so deeply, truly in love with her, or the way he could scarcely believe what was happening; that even in his wildest dreams, he had never thought that A’lyhhia would be in his arms, or crying out his name as she rolled against him, dragging him deeper inside her — and she loved him too. 

He wondered why he had ever held her at such a distance, when what he should have done was seize every opportunity available to feel her heart beating fast against his chest, or savour the way her hands seemed to fit in his as though they had only been briefly parted, ready to be moulded together again as though they had never left at all.

And then her eyes would meet his, those beautiful blue eyes that had given him such pause ever since she strolled into the Gods’ Quiver, and they were so bright, so full of life; and her cheeks were flushed pink, and her mouth would part in gasps that grew into the world’s biggest smile; and then his heart would skip a beat, because _she_ loved _him_ , and she was as open, as unashamed in showing it to him as she was her pleasure. 

A’lyhhia was unafraid, uncaring of who might see or hear them — her mind was simply focused on Silvairre, and Silvairre alone; the way he felt, the way he looked, and the way he was _hers_ , without a single doubt in her mind. The sight of his smile, after the two of them had reached their pleasure and lay together, wrapped in a tangle of sweaty limbs, made her heart sing.

“When did you know?” she said, a gentle purr behind her words.

“I always did.”

“And to think I thought you _hated_ me.” A’lyhhia laughed, shaking her head as she nuzzled his chest. She loved the strength in his body, written clearly in his muscled frame, and yet he was so gentle, so tender with her that she could melt.

“Only a fool could hate you, A’lyhhia.” 

“You never gave me any hint at all, you know. I never suspected a thing.”

“Then _I_ am the fool.” Silvairre had a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Maybe I don’t love you after all.”

“Maybe you do.”

“And how would you know that? Are you not a fool?”

He shifted onto his side, lips pressing against her forehead. “For you, my love? Always.”

The sound of her laugh made his heart soar. “That was almost poetic. What’s got into you, to make you talk so romantically all of a sudden?”

“How long have we known each other? And how long have I wanted you? Well, when I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or waking, there’s your answer.”

“Fool.” She grinned. “Now kiss me.”

“Oh, what a chore.”

* * *

  
  


The two of them dressed in contended silence, each just as pleasantly stunned as the other, moving in a daze.

A’lyhhia fastened her satchel shut against her chocobo’s saddle, checking her lute and possessions were safely stored away before turning to Silvairre.

“And what does this make us?” she asked him, hoping her words would not betray her panic. Was this just a moment between them, never to be spoken of again?

“I — I was going to ask you the same question.”

“Would you like it?” 

“Like what?”

“If we were lovers?” Her voice was muffled. A’lyhhia turned to face the ground, resolutely avoiding his gaze, and he sighed.

“I thought that was clear enough.” She looked up at him, eyes widening, and he hastened to soften his tone. “I _do_ want it,” he said gently, smiling. “I would want it a lot…. if you would, too.”

“I… I would want it, too.”

Silvairre coughed. “So, does that mean —?”

“Uh, I think so.” She tried to hide her blush behind a curtain of hair. “We’re… together, then?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he said quickly, and she laughed.

“I’m going back to Quarrymill now. I have to show _this_ — ” she pointed to where the stone lay in her satchel “— to someone who’s patiently waiting there for me, then head back to Vesper Bay.”

“Gone so soon?” Silvairre tried, and failed, to keep the disappointment from his tone. After all they had just done together, the thought of having to say goodbye to her was… painful.

“I won’t have to head off straight away,” A’lyhhia said, soothing. “I can always summarise the important things in a letter, tell him I’ll be there in a week or so.”

“And the Scions won’t mind if you stay here, then?”

“So long as I don’t shirk away when duty calls, there’s no real time limit. They can afford to wait a week, I think, given everything else I’ve done for them.” Her heart sank at the thought of the upcoming battle at Castrum Meridium, but she shook her head.

“There’s time enough to think and plan for that,” A’lyhhia smiled. “I am a Scion, yes… but for now, I am yours.”

“You are mine,” Silvairre agreed, grinning. His hand found hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, while her other took the chocobo’s reins.

“How about we walk to Quarrymill, I can speak to my ally, then we can take the aethernet to Gridania and get a room in the Carline Canopy?”

“Oh?” His tone was light and teasing. “And what would we be doing there, I wonder?”

“Archery practice, of course. I’ll ask especially for a room with a balcony. We can see who shoots furthest across the city.”

“Mhh-hmm, of course we will.”

“Are you doubting my skills as an archer, Silvairre?” 

“Oh no, not in the slightest, _ch_ _é_ _rie_. Merely your plan.”

“Well, what else would we be doing? Other than melting your icy front?”

“Touché. I am quite melted already, I think.”

“Having emotions suits you, you know.” A’lyhhia squeezed his hand. “It makes me happy to know you have them, buried somewhere in all that broodiness. Hush, now, don’t spoil it.” She held a finger to his lips as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Such a cruel woman. Are all Scions as cruel as you?”

“Are all Elezen as talkative as you?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I have to say, this day didn’t end up at all the way I planned.”

“Oh. Worse, then?”

“Entirely for the better.” The two of them held a lingering glance, smiled, and burst into laughter once more. 

  
  
  


* * *

Curled together in bed in their room that night, Silvairre smiled down at her, kissing her cheeks until she laughed and pulled him against her lips.

"To think I had thought this day would never come," he whispered. "And then here you are."

"I sent off my letter to Vesper Bay while we were at Quarrymill," A'lyhhia said, giggling. "Do you want to know what I wrote?"

"What terrible things did you say to them?"

"I said unless it was urgent business, I was on holiday with a lover and not to be disturbed."

"Wicked woman," he grinned as she laughed, shaking his head. "And what's this about _a_ lover, hmm? Am I to share you, then?"

"Perhaps." Her tail curled around his thigh. "Perhaps if you do not please me enough, I will have to take ten or twenty."

"If I do not please you enough, you may take a hundred. The fault is mine."

"I was scared to leave you, truth be told," she whispered, leaning on an elbow to look up at him. "I... I thought if I've done so much for them, given up so much of my life already — why can I not have this moment alone with you? Just this time together, only me and you? Why do I have to hurry back?"#

"Because they need you."

"But _you_ need me. We've only just —"

"We have only just began," Silvairre finished for her, kissing her brow. "And we have all the time in the world, once you've liberated your companions and... well, whatever else they can find to keep you busy, I'm sure."

"Fine. I'm still having at least a week with you, or I'll boil Papalymo in a stew."

"Such a temper." He shook his head, chuckling. "You are a fiery little thing, are you not?"

"No complaints from you." A'lyhhia stuck out her tongue at him.

"No, you have me there," Silvairre agreed. "So... you're really staying, then?"

" _Yes_. It would have to take twenty primals dancing in a conga line over Costa del Sol for me to leave you, now."

"Quite the image, I have to say."

"Exactly, which is why I'm not budging. I'm allowed a day off, aren't I?"

"Or a week, as it so happens."

"Don't be smart." She shook her head. "I'm staying here, and Twelve damn anyone who tries to take me from you."

Silvairre found himself touched. " _Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow._ "

"Mhmm? What was that?"

"Something poetic," he smiled. "Goodnight, my love."

**Author's Note:**

>  _Chérie_ \- honey; a term of endearment
> 
>  _Ah, chérie, tu me fais rougir. Vois par toi-même_ \- ah, honey, you make me blush. See for yourself
> 
>  _Désolé_ \- sorry


End file.
